The Ellison Chronicles Series
by NorthernStar
Summary: Crossover with "The Sentinel." Sequel to The "Rebirth" Series. Blair Sandburg is more than just a Guide...
1. Storm Warnings

Disclaimer:  I don't own them, etc.

Rating:  PG-13 / 12A

Series:  The "Ellison Chronicles" series, sequel to the "Rebirth" series.

Warnings:  Crossover universe - The Sentinel/Highlander.

Summary:  Blair Sandburg is more than just a Guide…

Notes:  You probably don't need to read the first series to read this, but it helps.  While Methos and the rest of the Highlander gang aren't part of this story, they will play a part in future. 

**Storm Warnings**

By NorthernStar

Jim knew about the sword.

Of course, he didn't _know_ about the sword, but he knew Blair had it.  But when your roommate has ceremonial spears and Bronze Age axes and a two foot fertility statue with a foot long erect penis that he claimed his mother had given him for the 21st birthday, you didn't tend to question the vaguely normal things.

He could hear the soft sounds of Blair polishing the blade, directly below him, in the tiny cubby hole Blair happily called his room.  Jim had soon learned the ritual of cleaning the razor sharp steel had a similar affect on Blair as his meditation – it seemed to clear his head, focus his thoughts.  And right now, Blair needed some focus.

His friend had been on edge all week, even though Jim's work hadn't been out of the ordinary, his senses were top notch and Blair had no term papers to deal with or submit himself.  Yet he'd spent a lot of time out of the loft and away from Major Crimes, tense if he was forced to file reports at the station or go out on a call with Jim.  He'd even turned down the opportunity to play poker round Joel's with the guys, something he usually jumped at.

But then…

Jim turned over in bed.  

But it was nothing he could pin-point, nothing tangible, just…_something_…

After a while, he heard Blair leave his room and boot up his laptop and shortly afterwards, a pleasant numbness took over the sounds and he realised Blair had turned on the white noise generators installed around the loft.  Sandburg was probably going to study all night.  Again.

Jim closed his eyes and let the quiet empty his mind.  He thought he heard the door click shut but it was vague and hazy and sleep carried him away a half second later.

*** 

Cussing and the sound of water rushing woke him.  Jim opened his eyes to pitch blackness, a world of complete dark.  Jim sat up in bed, listening to the shower running in the bathroom and underneath the pounding water, Blair's heart racing.   With his sight curtailed, his hearing sharpened, skittering on the edge of zoning out the other senses.  He could hear the slap of water on skin and smell the burst of copious amounts of sickly smelling shower gel and fruity shampoo.  It hung so strongly in the air that Jim could taste the bitter soap at the back of his throat.

And there…layered under all those sensations, the scent of blood and the sharp tang of electricity.

Jim shot out of bed, using his touch and hearing to guide him to the stairs.  At the top step, his sensitive eyes picked up the light from a single candle on the table, rendering the total night to murky gloom.  Out the window, there was nothing.  The electricity was out across the block.  

Jim began down the stairs and half way down he saw Blair coming out of the bathroom, shrugging into a fresh shirt, hair wet and damp.  He picked the candle up and took it into his room.  A few seconds later, Jim caught the sounds of something being rubbed against skin and the scent of deodorant.  The smell was strong but even that did not offset the stench of static and blood and…

…arousal.

That scent pulled him up sharp.  "Blair?"

Blair came back into the room, the familiar curly head lifting blindly towards the sound of Jim's voice.  His pupils were huge in the darkness.  

"Sorry I woke you, man."  He said.  The words were light, but Jim thought he could hear tension in there…something _more_…  "Had a major munchies attack so I went to that all night store over on twenty-third, half way back the whole street goes out."  He put his hands up, fingers rigid and spiky, playing out the scene even if he couldn't see it.  "Fffzzz. Total chaos.  Some sorta freak electrical storm."

Jim frowned.  Was that what he could smell?  Static in the air from a storm?  He didn't give voice to the thought though, knowing Blair would dream up some sort of test if he knew.  He'd have Jim predicting the weather before he could even say 'forecast.'

"Try to be quiet about it, Chief."  He told him and turned to go back upstairs.  "Without the electrics, the generators are off.  You sound like a herd of elephants."

Half way up the stairs he heard Blair mutter, "Off… Man, you don't have to tell me…"

***

Blair carefully laid his shamshir back in its nook and cursed the misfortune of the Quickening hitting the power lines.  He thought he had everything planned, in the event of a challenge, with the white noise generators covering his departure and return and the bottle of minerals he carried constantly to neutralise the affects of the herbs he drank every morning in his 'algae shake' to slow his Immortal healing among the measures, but he hadn't considered the possibility of a black out.

The thought of Jim waking and finding him locked in battle…  

Blair had long thanked which ever of Jim's ancestors that decided to settle in Cascade, for the city was fairly quiet on the Immortal front - Washington was too well guarded to keep combat secretive - but he still had to be more careful.  He didn't even want to think about having to explain this to Jim.

He was still buzzing from the Quickening, his skin sensitised and raw but Blair got into bed anyway and lay back.  He knew a long night was ahead of him, tossing and turning while the restless energy left over from the Quickening screamed at his inactivity.  

Blair stared at his ceiling, knowing his friend was just metres above him.  If Jim ever found out, he'd feel betrayed.  

And Blair knew he could not bear to lose another Sentinel…

*

**Ethiopia****, 1752**

His body ached with fatigue.  Blair had been running through the bush land for days, part of small group of warriors from the tribe tracking the slave traders who had raided their homelands and taken their kin.  Their tracks were easy to follow as they marched their frightened, exhausted 'cargo' towards the port and a life of slavery.  The warriors were less than half a day behind them and steadily gaining, but even so, it wasn't likely they'd be able to rescue their tribesmen.

That didn't stop them though, or slow them down.

Blair knew Tegene was aware of his presence the whole time, tied forever to his Guide.  Blair could not see the faith of his rescue on the Sentinels face, not at this distance, but knowing it was there all the same. 

A little ahead of him, their chief, Keita, stooped low into the brush, drawing his bow and signalled for the warriors to follow suit.  He gestured to Nkosi and then pointed at Blair.  Nkosi nodded, understanding the imperative.  Protect the Guide.

Then Blair saw what Keita had seen.  Under the trees, the traders had stopped and rested.  The slaves were still bound and a couple hung limply from their bindings, half dead from the long trek.  Tegene's head came up, scenting and hearing their careful approach.  He immediately looked away, concealing what he'd sensed.

The warriors crept softly forward, keeping concealed, knowing this was their best – their only – chance to save their kin.  There wouldn't be another opportunity to ambush the traders.  Blair could hardly believe their fortune. 

Pressure on his senses startled him.  It had been so long he'd almost forgotten what it felt like….almost…  

Blair froze, eyes scanning the traders.

There.  

Blair saw the Immortals at the same moment they saw him.  Two men - one narrow and blond, the other taller and dark haired – slavers, staring right at him, alerted now to the danger.  They yelled at their fellow slavers who raised their guns.

Keita cursed their misfortune and with a cry sent the warriors forward.  All but Nkosi ran towards their tribesmen, spears and bows at the ready.  Blair desperately called out to stop them but his yell was lost in the volley of gunfire and he could do no more than watch as the warriors fell before ever reaching their kin.  

Enraged, Blair bolted heedlessly from his cover, Nkosi following close behind him.  Keita had asked Blair not to join them.  The Guide was protector, not warrior.  But his guilt had driven Blair to ignore the chief's advice.  It was Blair's fault Tegene had been unable to protect the tribe.  He'd used herbs and gentle poisons to dull the Sentinels senses and make him train harder.  

Tegene and the tribe had been easy prey for the traders.

If he'd listened…

If he'd stayed behind, the traders would have been taken by surprise and Tegene and the others would now be free.  

As he ran, Blair saw one of slavers aim his gun at them, but the taller Immortal yelled at him to lower his weapon. Then he called out to his companion – his student, Blair guessed – ordering him to stay with the cargo and drew his sword to take up Blair's challenge.  

The student shook his head and grabbed a slave, pulling sharply on her chains.  

"Devante," the blond Immortal cried, "leave this. We must meet the ship!"  And he drew his own sword and held it to the frightened slave's neck before yelling at Blair.  "Leave, traitor!  Or I shall kill them all!"

Blair froze half way towards the Immortal and lowered his sword.  His challenger swore and whirled on the woman his companion held, slicing her head clean from her shoulders.

Behind him, Nkosi cried out.  Blair looked away in horror.

"Leave now!"  Devante yelled out, moving towards the long line of slaves.  "And keep your head another day."

Blair hesitated.  

"Or perhaps you would prefer I do this."  And he brought his sword to bear again.  Another head fell, this time a boys, no older than twelve.

Blair began backing up and at the corner of his eyes saw Nkosi drew his bow beside him.  A trader aimed and fired and Nkosi's body jerked once and fell, red blossoming in his stomach.  

Blair shook with rage, trying and failing to keep from looking in the Sentinels direction.  Tegene's eyes were blazing.

The slaver caught his glance towards Tegene and smiled.  He walked to the Sentinel.  Blair felt fear grip his heart and the Immortal raised his sword.  

"NOOOO!!!!"  

Blair broke into a run, but the thud of a fist in his chest knocked him to the ground at the same moment he heard a gun fire.  Blood poured from the wound, robbing him of breath and he fell.  

Hands caught him and he looked up into Nkosi's blood streaked face.  The warrior began dragging him away, using what little strength he had left to do as his chief had ordered.  Protect the Guide.

Blair whispered a prayer for his tribesmen and let Nkosi pull him away.  He could only hope his Sentinel would forgive him.  

Blair looked back and saw a trader take careful aim at him and Nkosi.  Then he heard Tegene yell, angry and enraged and saw the Sentinel lunge, still chained, at the gunman, spoiling his aim.  Nkosi stumbled and pulled Blair to the ground with him.  As they hit the dusty earth, Blair felt the Bond inside him snap.

Behind him, Tegene's head fell, the dull thud resounding in his ears.  

Nkosi's cry echoed his own and softly Blair whispered a promise to kill them.

*

Blair curled on his side and let the tears come.  Today he had brought half of that promise into being.

But Devante still lived.

***

"That's sick." Joel's words echoed across the bullpen as Blair made his way towards Jim's desk.  He tossed the knot of detectives around Brown's desk a casual 'hey' but kept on walking.

"Kid couldn't have been more than 17."  Brown said and glanced over at Blair.  "Hey, Hairboy, what's the book's say about beheading?"

The chill never registered on his face.  "Beheading?"

"Some kid was found by the docks."  Brown told him and motioned across his neck.  "In two places."

Blair curled his lips.  "Gross, man."

Simon frowned at Blair.  "No anthropological gem you could share with us?"

Blair threw him a grin.  "You really want me to answer that?"

They all looked at each other and immediately found jobs to do.

Blair hid a smile…

~~Fin~~

Historical Notes:  West Africans accounted for approximately two-thirds of the African captives imported into the Americas.  Mortality on such ships was around 20 percent.  This despicable trade was abolished in 1798 and in 1833; all slaves throughout Britain and its colonies were emancipated.  In one of the bitterest historical ironies, US Independence by that time meant that American slaves would have to wait another 30 years to be free.

Other Notes:  Tegene is an Ethiopian name meaning "my protector."


	2. Kaddish

Disclaimer: I don't own them, etc.

Rating: PG-13 / 12A

Series: The "Ellison Chronicles" series, sequel to the "Rebirth" series.

Warnings: Crossover universe - The Sentinel/Highlander.

Summary: Blair told Jim it was about friendship. And it is…

Notes: Sorry this was a long time coming. I hope you find it worth the wait at least.

**Kaddish**

_By NorthernStar_

Jim could hear Blair's heartbeat from the other side of the room. It was tripping along a little faster than the young man's activity should make it. Blair was wound up; maybe he was even feeling guilty. There was some satisfaction in that.

Jim watched his friend, keeping his eyes on Blair all the while he packed his battered old backpack, cramming things in without bothering to fold and arrange them. He was travelling light, just enough clothes to make do with, no books save his journals and notebooks.

That was a good sign, wasn't it? Blair wouldn't abandon the rest. He'd have to come back.

Jim's mouth set into a line.

No. He wouldn't need much on an expedition, would he?

---

Blair was annoyed at the attitude. He knew Jim was angry with him. The sentinel had been typically tight lipped, but Blair knew he was quiet fuming. A few days before Blair had turned down Professor Stoddard's offer of a place on a project in Borneo. He had considered the offer - a year was a blink of an eye to an Immortal – but even though times had changed and being a Guide wasn't like it had been all those centuries ago, he had never been _truly _serious about leaving.

Only now he _was_ leaving. And he couldn't tell Jim where he was going. Certainly couldn't tell him _why_.

Jim never said a word; it was all silence and frowns. He had nailed Blair with those eyes of his, laying on the kind of guilt trip only the very young can achieve. You got to leave that behind round about your second century.

Blair carefully shifted his sword in its hiding place. Its weight was a steady comfort in his hands. Then he pushed the last of his clothes into the bag and closed it up before shrugging it onto his shoulder.

Jim's eyes never shifted from him.

At the door, Jim finally spoke. "Thought you said this was about friendship, Chief?" His words carried only the faintest note of anger and sadness.

Blair paused. "It is." He told him.

"You're running out on me, Sandburg."

Blair took hold of the door handle and opened it. "I have other friends, Jim." He offered him a half-smile. "I'll be back"

---

**Paris**

It was bitingly cold despite the brilliant sunshine. Blair looked up at the chapel he had not seen in over a hundred years. He should have returned sooner, after Methos had taken him from Tibet and given him back his life. There were so many things he had wanted to say to Darius. But time had passed, the way it always does, and now it was too late.

Methos had told him of the ancient Immortal's death. He had been murdered at the hands of bitter mortals, jealous and afraid of Immortal kind. His loss would be felt for centuries.

Blair made no move towards to door. It felt somehow wrong to enter now that the life had been taken from the chapel. They might have re-consecrated the ground following the killing, but there were some stains that simply could not be removed.

Blair felt the press of an Immortal on his senses, intruding on the stillness of this place. He turned and scanned the streets.

Nothing.

Perhaps the Immortal had turned a corner, backing away, unwilling to risk trouble. He had chosen that path himself many times before.

Satisfied that he was alone, Blair looked back at the chapel, but his inner peace was gone.

---

A tallow candle in flickered in the window. Blair could see the tiny light jump and bounce on its wick as he approached the door. He hadn't bothered knocking. Immortals had their own doorbell systems and it wasn't like he was unexpected.

The door opened as he walked up to it. Methos looked tired and dishevelled.

This mortal must have been special.

Methos didn't waste time on greetings. "Did you bring it?"

Blair opened his bag and dug to the bottom. He took out a small vial.

---

**Scotland, 1350**

He was cold and wet and his limbs ached from the walking. The rain pelted from the sky, making the ground under foot slick with mud, but still the woman urged him on. Her long red hair was stuck to her face in dirty snarls and a few strands hung limply down like a curtain protecting the bundle of rags snuggled in her arms.

Lulach's baby brother. The infant was barely two weeks old and now it was dying, if it wasn't dead already. He hadn't heard the baby cry since they left his home.

Lulach stumbled, felling into the mud. He lay there, feeling wretched. He couldn't get up.

The woman tugged at his rags, forcing him to his feet.

"Please, Lulach," she pleaded, "get up, fly!"

His feet slipped, but he caught his balance and then the woman was pulling him forward again, setting an even tougher pace.

He realised then that he could smell burning – a thick cloying smoke scent, catching in his throat. He looked back the way they come and saw an orange glow in the distance.

"They're burning the village." The woman whispered. "That won't stop the plague."

And then she urged him on harder, bony hand tight around his wrist, pulling him along.

The rain stopped after a time and the sky darkened, but still they walked. Lulach had ceased complaining, falling into a kind of sleepy trudging where he wasn't really awake, wasn't really dozing.

The stars were out before they finally stopped. Lulach fell asleep almost before his body hit the ground.

Morning came all too soon and he awoke to the smell of cooking meat. The woman had built a small fire, and was roasting a wild fowl over it.

"Are you hungry?" She asked him and cut a wing off with her knife, wrapped it in a rag and held it out. She had also collected a bowl of fresh rainwater and offered him that too.

Lulach took it eagerly, devouring the meat and drinking deeply. He was so hungry he would have eaten the bones too, if she hadn't handed him more with a chuckle.

She watched him closely and it was only when he'd finished that she said softly. "My name is Naomi."

And something about that made him remember his brother. Fear shot through him and he went to the roll of rags lying on the other side of the fire.

"Lulach!"

He opened the swaddling, growing more and more frantic as searched the rags and found only more tattered cloth inside.

There was no baby.

---

**Paris**

Her name was Alexa. Blair looked at the image of the pale woman that Methos had given him. She looked young but so very mortal. She would be forever young now, safe in Methos' memory.

Methos took the photo back and returned it to its place in the pages of his journal. He looked up, and instantly shook off the moment, as if it had never happened.

"Beer first, I think."

---

They went to a bar where Methos was warmly greeted by the barman, whose eyes flickered to Blair with interest. Methos led the way to the back where they sat in relative privacy. They talked into the night, about Alexa and Naomi, and even about Maya and finally Darius. Blair didn't know why the subject of sentinels never came up, but they didn't and he didn't seek out an opening.

Finally, when the bar was all but empty, and the table between them was littered with empty beer bottles, Blair got up.

Methos followed him.

The drive out of Paris was silent. Blair knew the way, at least on horseback, and he navigated the roads slowly but accurately. At last they drew up near the lake, and began the hike down to the sheltered hollow of rocks where the hidden pool of water lay. The trees were thicker and taller than they'd been the last time Blair had been here, but it was familiar all the same.

It was like coming home.

At the edge of the small lake, Blair unpacked his bag and began placing candles around. Methos followed him with a lighter and soon the little enclave was awash with a soft gold glow.

Methos undressed and slipped into the chill water. He gasped.

Blair slipped in behind him. "Be glad it's not a loch."

---

**Scotland, 1350**

Lulach shivered in the bitterly cold dark water of the loch and began to cry. The woman was humming. Naomi didn't seem to notice the cold.

"Hush," she murmured. "Let your tears be for your family, not for the cold."

The boy's lip trembled. "Where is he?"

She began to bathe his body with a sodden rag, washing away the dirt and grime, cleaning his hair.

"At the village."

"I want to go back for him."

"He's dead, Lulach."

And then the tears were for his brother and not the cold. His small body shook with the force of his sobs.

"Why did you leave him?" He wept.

"I had to leave him. You wouldn't have gone without him." She cupped his cheek. "And they would have burned you too. You can't die, little Blair. Not yet."

He sobbed as she cleaned him, pouring the water over him to pour down his face, washing away the tears.

"That's your grief, Lulach." She told him, "it's washing away to join the stillness of the water."

And then when his tears were spent, she took him back to the bank and while his skin still wet, she opened a tiny blue vial and poured a little of its contents on her palm. It smelled bitter and sweet at the same time.

Then, gently, she smoothed the oil over him. It warmed his skin like sunlight.

"See, little Blair?" She pointed to his oil slicked arm. "The oil protects you from the water. The grief inside it can't get back into you."

---

**Paris**

In the flickering light of candles, Blair gently smoothed the oils over Methos' skin. His teacher hadn't spoke and Blair didn't want to intrude on the grief he'd witnessed washing out of his old teacher.

When they were done, Blair built a fire and they both huddled around it to drive out the chill inside them. They sat in silence for a long time until the quiet pressed too heavily on Blair and he was forced to speak.

"You could have asked Naomi." He said.

"I could." Methos agreed and fell silent again.

More time passed and then Methos got up and began putting on his clothes.

Blair, who had already dressed, stamped out the fire and started packing away the candles.

When he was dressed, Methos stretched out the kinks in his body. "Where shall we have breakfast?"

Blair put away the last of the candle and then reverently put the 1000 year old vial back into the safety of his bag.

"On the Seine, I think." Methos was saying. "I know this great little bistro-"

Blair stood up. "I have to go back."

Methos turned.

"I have to get back… to Jim."

"Jim?" Methos frowned and then a flicker behind his eyes as he remembered. "The boy?"

"He's not a boy now."

"He's a Sentinel?"

Blair nodded.

Methos thought this over a moment. Then when Blair saw acceptance on his old teacher's face, he got up and began walking.

---

Edward Devante watched the tiny figures part ways.

Wrong Immortal. This time.

But the boy would lead him to the one he wanted in the end.

_**Fin**_

Canon Notes: In HL, Methos lost Alexa sometime between 'Methuselah's Gift' and 'Through a Glass, Darkly' which, based on transmission dates, puts her death around early May 1996. This would be shortly after 'Love and Guns' in the TS universe, but before 'Attraction.' This is set a few weeks after her death, just after "Flight."

Other Notes: The Kaddish is a Jewish prayer said daily by a mourner with a quorum of ten or more men (over the age of 13) for eleven months after burial and also on the anniversary (the Yahrtzeit) of death.


End file.
